Fate
by InsideMyBrain
Summary: Fate is a cruel lady. That much is for certain. Anyone who has experienced any sort of tragedy would agree with me. But if you are still unconvinced, I invite you to take a look at a single evening in the life (or rather, death) of Matthew Williams. Oneshot.


_Fate is a cruel lady._  
 _Let us examine one night,_  
 _At a time where bars grew shady,_  
 _Two brothers, out to make merry and be light,_  
 _Whose lives Fate held in the palm of her hand,_  
 _Which she twisted without mercy,_  
 _So no matter how the evening could end,_  
 _It would always be a terrible tragedy._

* * *

Footsteps in the hall. Alfred F. Jones put his head in his hands, willing himself not to cry. He'd already shed too many tears that night, though to him it would never be enough. But now he had to collect himself, because they were going to ask him what had happened.

The door opened, and Alfred wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. A police officer comes in, followed by a man in a suit.

"Hello, Alfred," The man in the suit said, "My name is Arthur Kirkland. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Alfred sniffled, cleared his throat, and began to tell the story.

"Mattie and I were going out for Friday night drinks. Just hanging out like brothers do. We were driving down Queen Street when we got into an argument. It was pretty stupid, it was just over who was going to drive home. It escalated from there, and we got really mad at each other. Mattie unbuckled his seatbelt and asked me to pull over so he could walk. I refused, and we started yelling again. But..." Alfred took off his glasses to wipe his eyes again. "But then he screamed, 'Alfie, watch out!' And I looked but it was too late and we smashed into the truck." Alfred's speech was becoming erratic and rushed, tears dripping down his face and choking him. "Mattie... He flew forward, into the windshield, and it broke. I was screaming..." Alfred broke off again to sob for a few minutes, then resumed the story. "I ran out of the car, and he was lying on the ground, covered in broken glass. One of the truck's wheels was on his wrist. I killed him!"

Arthur waited for Alfred to stop crying before speaking.

"It wasn't your fault. The truck was going down the street the wrong way. It was an accident."

Alfred shook his head. "I know that. I know. But if I had agreed to drive home I would have seen the truck in time and swerved out of the way."

Arthur said nothing as Alfred took a few deep breaths.

"I just stood there," Alfred whispered, "Hearing myself repeat his name over and over again, like... _'Mattie, Mattie, Mattie'_..."

Arthur coughed, then awkwardly said, "Thank you for telling me."

Arthur left the room, Alfred's sobs echoing in his ears.

* * *

Footsteps in the hall. Alfred F. Jones put his head in his hands, willing himself not to cry again. He's already shed too many tears that night, though to him it would never be enough. But now he had to collect himself, because they were going to ask him what happened.

The door opened, and Alfred wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands. A police officer came in, followed by a man in a suit.

"Hello, Alfred," The man in the suit said, "My name is Arthur Kirkland. I'm a detective. What happened?"

Alfred sniffled, cleared his throat, and began to tell the story.

"Mattie and I went out for drinks. Just hanging out on a Friday night like brothers do. We'd already gotten into a fight on the way over, about who would drive, so I was still pissed about that. We got there and we were drinking and having a good time when he accidentally spilled his drink all over me. I got really mad, even though he kept apologizing. Before I knew it, we were throwing punches. I punched him in the face and he stumbled back and hit the wall. But..." Alfred took off his glasses to wipe his eyes again. "But he didn't get up. He just lay against the wall. I thought he was taking a break until I noticed his head was stuck to the wall." Alfred's speech was becoming erratic and rushed, tears dripping down his face and choking him. "There - there was a nail. Sticking out of the wall and into the back of my brother's head. Alfred broke off again to sob for a few minutes, then resumed the story. "I ran up to him, and tried to pull him away, but that just made blood spray everywhere. So much blood, all over the wall... I killed him!"

Arthur waited for Alfred to stop crying before speaking.

"You're being charged with third degree murder, since you only meant to hurt him."

Alfred shook his head. "Oh God. Oh my God. I wish I'd never thrown that punch. I wish I'd never laid a hand on my brother in my entire life!"

Arthur said nothing as Alfred took a few deep breaths.

"I just stood there," Alfred whispered, "Hearing myself repeat his name over and over again, like... _'Mattie, Mattie, Mattie'_..."

Arthur waited a few moments, then coughed awkwardly. "I'll leave you alone for now."

He left the room, Alfred's sobs echoing in his ears.

* * *

Footsteps in the hall. Alfred F. Jones grinned, leaning back in his chair lazily. When he was caught, they expected him to shed tears, but he's never cry. In fact, he was on the verge of laughing. But he needed to collect himself, because they were going to ask him what happened.

The door opened, and Alfred wiped the smile off his face. A few police officers came in, followed by two detectives.

"Hello, Alfred." The first one said in a delightfully dangerous British accent. "I suggest you start talking."

"No need to get all worked up," He drawled in response, "I'll tell you exactly what happened."

Alfred sat up straight, cleared his throat, and began to tell the story.

"Mattie and I went out for Friday night drinks. Actually, it was more like he went out for drinks, since I offered to drive home. Anyway, we went and hung out and it was fun. Everything was good. But on the way back, the car ran out of gas. So I pulled into an alley, so that we wouldn't get a ticket. We both got out of the car, and I told Mattie I'd see if I had any gas in the trunk. There was some, but I didn't want to waste it on the car." Alfred took off his glasses and winked. "I got out my knife instead. At first he didn't understand what was going on, but when I held the blade to his neck, he caught on pretty quickly." Alfred's speech was becoming louder and cockier, quipping at the end as though he was about to burst out laughing. "He asked me why. I just smiled. And then I did it. I slit my brother's throat, easy as pie. And I love pie." Alfred leered, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. "So then I went and got that gasoline and some matches and set his body on fire. I probably would have gotten away with it had you guys not shown up right then." He shrugged. "I killed him."

"You sicken me." The second detective said, his French accent making the repulsion that lingered on each syllable more intense.

The first detective waited for Alfred to stop giggling before speaking.

"First degree murder. Your lawyer will be here shortly. Good luck not getting the death penalty."

"Doesn't bother me." Alfred chortled.

The detectives said nothing as Alfred tried to stop snickering.

"You know, I just stood there." Alfred whispered. "Holding that knife to his throat, and hearing him repeat my name over and over again, like... _'Alfie, Alfie, Alfie'_..."

The two detectives exchanged horrified looks, then left the room, Alfred's laughter echoing in their ears.

* * *

 _Do you believe me now?_  
 _That fate is such a cruel woman,_  
 _To kill a man no matter how,_  
 _To take pleasure in a thing so tragedian,_  
 _She who laughs at we mortals' pain,_  
 _And smiles when she hears us sob,_  
 _Fate is a devilish dame,_  
 _From us, everything she shall rob._


End file.
